The Calm Before the Storm

On the day that marked two weeks of training, the knights held their once-a-month monster subjugation.

As I'd expected, there wasn't much for me to do. The family's knights swept through the monster dens surrounding the royal capital with brisk efficiency, and I managed to scrape together a little combat experience in the process.

Afterward I sat down with Father to talk about my part in the hunt, and the conversation turned, inevitably, to the knights who had come after me — and what was to be done with them.

They were to be suspended from duty and formally disciplined. Originally, once Father had heard the full account, he had been furious ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough to dismiss them outright. But I knew the old Alvin's behavior better than anyone, so I asked him to lighten their sentence.

"If that's what you want, Alvin, then of course."

"Thank you."

"I've heard Sir Jacqueline follows you with remarkable devotion. To recognize a knight of such loyalty and excellence, and take him under your wing... Alvin, I'm proud of you."

Word of Sir Jacqueline had reached Father's ears as well, and he praised the man warmly. The smile he wore as he clapped me on the shoulder is one I still can't forget.

My standing in Father's eyes was shifting — and for the better. A son generous enough to forgive the men who picked a fight with him, and diligent enough to train alongside the knights every single day. Thanks to that, securing financial support had become a simple matter.

And now a full month had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠passed since I'd begun training with the knights.

A month can feel like nothing, or like everything, depending on how you look at it. Whether it was the Gilbert blood in my veins or something else entirely, my body adapted and grew at a startling pace.

To have talent like this and do absolutely nothing with it. Now I understood why the family had been so desperate to get Alvin to train. This body could do it — if it just tried.

Even after the day he'd stepped in when those knights came at me, Sir Jacqueline never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stopped looking out for me. He kept offering help, kept paying attention. He told me that whenever he looked at me, he felt something almost paternal — as if I were his own child. Maybe that was the subjugation taking hold.

Reaching the rank of Sword User was all thanks to him as well.

And today was the day I would go to his home and treat his daughter.

I'd had to order the ingredients for the medicine and wait for them to arrive, which was why a full month had been necessary.

Faran and I arrived at Sir Jacqueline's house, and we went to check on his daughter at once.

Her name was Irene — a young lady with a head of darling pink hair.

Irene's condition was grave. Her breathing came harsh and ragged, and her skin was so badly cracked it looked like earth in a drought. I could imagine, all too clearly, what Sir Jacqueline must have felt every time he looked at her.

Even so, she was still well within the range of what I could treat.

"If the treatment is administered properly, a full recovery is entirely possible."

Sir Jacqueline let out a long breath of relief at those words.

"Sir — might I ask for your help with one thing?"

"Yes. Leave anything you wish to me!"

"While I give her the medicine, I need you to stabilize the flow of mana in your daughter's body."

I spoke as I took the medicine Faran held out to me.

"Understood."

The medicine had been ground from red herbs gathered in the villages near the front lines. Ordering them and waiting for delivery took a little time, but the herbs themselves weren't hard to come by if you knew where to look. The problem was that almost no one knew this medicine could treat the disease — which was why so many people had died of it.

All you had to do was administer the medicine and, from the side, help the patient's mana circulate steadily through the entire body. That was the whole treatment.

We hadn't been at it long — the medicine going down, the mana being cycled — before Irene began to cough.

"That's a sign her body is stabilizing. Let's keep at it a little longer."

Mana flowing from Jacqueline settled the chaotic mana inside Irene, and the groans of the girl who had been sweating and whimpering in pain gradually faded. The moment her mana flow evened out, her expression eased, and her breathing grew calm and even.

"Is the treatment finished?"

Every day he had watched his daughter drowning in pain. Now she lay sleeping with a peaceful face. A thousand feelings crossed Sir Jacqueline's features at once.

"Yes. If she takes the remaining medicine I prepared once a day, she'll make a full recovery before long."

"Oh—!"

At the news that a complete cure was close at hand, Sir Jacqueline's eyes grew red.

"Meeting you, Young Master, may well have been the guidance of heaven itself. To save a daughter that no one else could heal... Young Master, how on earth did you know the way to cure this illness?"

How did I know? All I could offer in reply was a smile.

Well, I used this red-herb medicine plenty of times while playing the game.

Not exactly something I could say out loud.

"Ah. I see. I understand your meaning. You truly are an extraordinary man, Young Master."

He seemed to have decided my smile contained some profound significance, and convinced himself of it all on his own.

"From the bottom of my heart, I thank you once more, Young Master Alvin."

Sir Jacqueline took both of my hands and held them fast. I couldn't say why, but his rough fingers felt especially warm today.

His level had jumped to five in an instant. To climb that far in so short a time was astonishing.

Reverence and Respect, of all things.

Granted, this was a class society, nothing like the world I'd come from. Even so, the idea of a man older than me regarding me with reverence and respect sat a little strangely.

"I am grateful for your loyalty, Sir. I hope your daughter recovers her health soon."

I turned my head and looked at Faran's face.

She usually wore a blank expression, but whether I was imagining it or not, her face looked a shade sharper than usual. Then, without a word, she fell in behind me.

Sir Jacqueline clearly wanted us to stay a little longer. But there was a patient in the house, so I told ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him we would visit again and headed home.

On the road back, Faran's expression kept pulling at my attention. She didn't say a single word to me.

I checked her mind again, and still there was nothing. Quiet as a lake.

Yes. Quiet — the way the world goes quiet before a storm. As if something were about to happen.

Faran had grown up in a temple.

Whether she had been born there or abandoned there, she did not know. She had simply been raised within its walls. The temple was full of children like her — children with no parents.

The adults would gather them together and teach them something they called the Revelation. The Revelation, they said, would tell each child what they had been born for, and that purpose would become their future.

The adults told Faran:

"You were born to become an assassin. Because that is what you were chosen to be."

They told the other children the same way — what each of them had to become. And then came the training, dressed up as play.

Time passed, and the children vanished one by one. She never learned why. Among the ones who remained, a rumor went around that they had run away.

Should I run away too?

Faran thought about it. She wanted to leave this place. She had no idea what waited for her outside, but she didn't have the luxury of caring. Even so, she couldn't do it.

Whenever Faran tried to step outside the Revelation the adults had given her, a strange sensation spoke inside her head.

Under that repeating suggestion, Faran had no choice but to surrender. She became an assassin.

Kill the target. Kill the witnesses. Kill yourself. Eliminate every variable.

Then one day, an adult from the temple told her the time had come — she was free to leave. But she was to go to a new place. That place was the Gilbert Ducal Estate. Live there as a maid, they told her, and in time she would come to understand what she was meant to do. The same as always.

Strangely enough, for as long as she stayed there, the sensation that had bound her simply... stopped. The familiar pain vanished, and the ease that replaced it felt, at first, like freedom. She was happy.

But as time went on, Faran grew uneasy instead.

What am I even here for?

And then, at some point, the sensation came back.

It was the day Alvin Gilbert changed.

From that day on, every time she faced him, the sensation crept a little further back into her. Alvin Gilbert, who seemed as though he had become an entirely different person.

On the way to treat Sir Jacqueline's daughter, Faran had not expected Alvin to succeed. A disease no one had ever cured — and he was going to fix it? That good-for-nothing?

But he had done it.

Alvin, the variable she could not understand. Alvin, who had transformed at some point as if he had become someone else entirely. And that sensation, rising every time she watched him move through the world. When she looked at him, she often felt as though he could see straight through her. A sensation that made her skin crawl. It called up memories of what she had felt as a child.

She had started to grow used to being around him again — had almost begun to forget — and then today he had cured a disease that no one else could cure.

And she made her decision.

The man who made her this way.

Tonight, she would assassinate Alvin Gilbert.